Necromancers Anonymous
by The Iza
Summary: Harry Potter was a normal child, aside from that whole raising the undead thing. But what are you gonna do? Evil!Necromancer!Harry. LVHP Slash. Rating will go up to Mature eventually. DISCONTINUED AND ADOPTED!
1. In Which A Demon Spawn is Born

Yeah, I'm finally getting off my lazy butt and writing something. :D Rejoice, people. Or at least pretend to. I'm not picky.

So this story is definitely going to be slash. Slash with 'who' I'm not quite sure yet, but the thought of Harry ending up with Zombie!Grindelwald makes me giggle. Er, that's not going to happen though. oo;; Unless you people want it. Er…

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter blah blah blah. This is just written for my amusement and all that jazz.

* * *

On the day Harry Potter was born, the heavens shuddered and the black clouds poured forth a sea of bubbling acid, destroying a small mining town, a museum devoted to the history of pencil shavings, and a rather obscure duplication of the Mona Lisa. Both the magical and the muggle newspapers blamed this on pollution in the ozone and left it at that. Lily and James Potter, meanwhile, paid it no mind and in no way was this a prophetic sign from some godly power, warning them of the threat in their midst. 

This was mostly because, for one, the powers that be had a terrible sense of direction and no access to a workable GPS; therefore the freak weather occurred two countries away. Two, the new Potter parents just had a _baby _for goodness sake! Some rain was the least of their concern (no matter how many casualties were involved).

All in all, Harry Potter was a bouncing, happy, pink little thing. The apple of his parents eye, and loved unconditionally by his godfather. Life was _good_. Life was _simple_. Life was now inhabited by a demon spawn from the depths of Hell, but that's just a technicality.

For a while everything was completely normal, even with that whole Voldemort-wanting-the-baby-dead thing. The Potters went into hiding, did their domestic duties and properly spoiled the infant with too many hugs and kisses to count and tried to ignore the growing threat right outside the doorstep.

Other things were ignored too.

"Oh for the love of-…_James_!" screamed Lily, throwing another _incendio_ at the wriggling mass of crisped feelers and still smoking legs. Little Harry giggled from the crib, watching his mother go up against a cockroach that had previously been trying to crawl up a shelf, minding its own business and enjoying existance.

James ran in, fearing a Death Eater attack or another diaper change for the baby. He skidded to a stop, staring at his disheveled wife and a pronounced charred hole in the wooden floor.

"Uh, Lily…"

Weren't the hormones supposed to _stop_ after the pregnancy?

Lily huffed impatiently, wanting to growl and tightly restraining herself, "It won't DIE, James. I've tried flattening it with a book, stomping it, setting it on fire, I'm about this close to _Avada Kedavra_-ing it and if you don't help I swear-"

"Woah, Lily, Lily, darling! It's a BUG! How hard can it be to-"

"THEN YOU TRY!"

James backed up a step, hands raised in surrender, "Alrght, fine. Calm down."

Squaring his chest and assuming the proper manly pose of showing-off-for-ones-wife, he stomped over to the traumatized insect and brought his foot down with a satisfying crunchy squish. Grinning cockily, he turned back to Lily and took his foot off.

"See? Nothing to it."

"Oh, I see all right." Lily intoned darkly, frowning, "And so does that bug."

"Er, what?"

Lily pointed down. The cockroach waved a broken leg in greeting. Harry clapped.

James made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "Ok. Ok. I have a plan. Wait here." He came back a minute later, spatula in hand. Scraping the bug, goo and all, off the floor as best as he could, he opened a window in the nursery and calmly dumped the insect out. "There. Problem solved."

Which it was. The incident was put out of mind, out of sight. As was the half rotten sparrow that insisted on singing outside of Harry's window for a month straight until it eventually fell apart, and the strange fertile nature of the soil outside the house by Harry's nursery, mostly because of a large presence of worms that loitered there at all hours of the day.

It was, as the Potters put it, kooky. But ignorable. Every single last bit.

And then Voldemort arrived, and people took some notice.

* * *

Ah, the prologue. Ridiculously short, but what are you going to do? 

Next chapter will be longer, if you guys want this to continue.

And any grammar/spelling mistakes that are pointed out will be greatly appreciated. :D


	2. In Which Some People Die

After much deliberation, (yeah ok, like 5 minutes worth) I've decided that Harry is definitely going to be getting his groove on with Voldemort. Because it's _Voldemort_, people. Naturally, I'll wait till he's at least in his fourth year before anything fun happens. Bah. Well…some innocent kissing before that is ok, right? XD

As always, please point out any mistakes you find.

Baby Harry was napping, curled around a stuffed animal and happily sucking his thumb. He snuggled deeper into the soft blankets, enjoying the feeling of a clean diaper and a full belly. His peaceful existence was shattered like a teenage girls self esteem when the door downstairs blew open and the screaming started. The next thing Harry knew, his mother was flailing around in panic while a strange man with crimson eyes pointed a wand at her. The young child didn't quite know what to make of this situation and settled on blowing a spit bubble.

There was more yelling and a flash of light and suddenly his mother collapsed, eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling as if it was the most fascinating thing she'd ever witnessed. Harry, confused, glanced at the ceiling as well. He didn't get it. It was a ceiling. White, plain, and not really worth looking at. Sometimes his mother was just _weird_.

Well, at least she wasn't trying to put him in a dress again, despondently moaning that she always wanted a little girl to love and cherish and bake cookies with. Thankfully his father had put a stop to that quick enough, but not without taking pictures first. Little Harry still held a grudge. It was alright, though. He had made sure to poop an extra amount for a whole week as revenge.

While Harry was reminiscing the pale man had stepped up to the crib and was eyeing Harry in disgust, lip curled.

"So," the man spoke coldly, "you're the brat that's meant to bring about my downfall, are you?"

Harry gibbered.

The man sneered, obviously not impressed. "Goodbye, Potter. You'll be seeing your parents again soon enough. _Avada kedavra_!"

The green light that flew toward the baby was, Harry decided, very pretty. He reached out with his chubby arms, giggling. The second the spell hit him, Harry was enveloped in an odd cold sensation that sent pleasant shivers through his body. The man had frozen in shock, eyes wide, as the dratted baby refused to do the proper, socially accepted thing and just _die_.

'What…the _fuck_?' was the only thought that went through his head.

Shortly after, the spell rebounded as Harry realized that he was having all the fun and his mom had always stressed the importance of sharing, or else. The 'or else' was implied, as was the threat of having more embarrassing baby pictures taken to be shown years from now, when Harry was an awkward teenager and bringing home his first date.

Lily was a vicious, blackmail-gathering little war-mongrel.

Not many people knew this.

Neither did James, until he married her. But by then it was too late. Woe is me and all that jazz.

The point was that Harry wanted the man to feel the pretty light too. It was only polite, after all. A second later, the light struck the man and everything seemed to come to a halt.

The man imploded.

Harry blinked.

Then the whole house shook and the drapes went up in flames. As the previously mentioned completely nondescript ceiling trembled and seemed to cave in on itself, a loose bit of wood fell into the crib and struck Harry on the forehead.

That was the last thing he remembered before the blackness took over his vision like an obese woman in a bikini.

The next time Harry opened his eyes he was lying in a basket on a doorstep. At night. All by himself. Surrounded by wild animals and drugged out homeless men with cocaine needles.

Well, alright. Maybe be was exaggerating, but who in their right mind would abandon a baby in the middle of nowhere, completely unprotected from the elements?

A baby hating bastard, that's who.

At the time, Harry concluded, there was nothing he could do to change this situation. So he stayed in that stupid basket and plotted revenge on whoever was responsible for this outrage. Didn't these people know who he was? He was _Harry Potter_, the cutest, most special baby in the entire universe (according to outside sources).

He swore that if this was the work of his parents he was going to take advantage of his aerodynamic pee ability and aim for the eyes next time he was due for a diaper change.

They would rue the day! _Rue_!

Those were the thoughts he fell asleep to in the early morning hours, right before a shriek jolted him from his dreams and he found himself staring into the elongated face of a mule. Or a really ugly woman. He couldn't be sure.

"VERNON!" came the scream.

Baby Harry wished he was deaf.

He soon found himself being stared at by the most gigantic, purple man he had ever seen. The mule quivered behind the man, every now and then giving a little whining whisper about the neighbors and their reputation. After much deliberation, the basket Harry was in was roughly jolted off of the ground and he was brought into the warmth of the house. Giving the baby fearful glances, the couple had a short argument and Harry was promptly placed in a cupboard under the stairs, away from the prying glances of the neighbors, friends, and law enforcement.

As the cupboard door slammed shut and Harry sneezed from the dust, he realized that the situation might just have gotten crappier. Then again, this could all just be a crazy dream and he would wake up to a nice bottle of milk and kisses from his parents. This was all just a figment of his overactive imagination. No more smooshed carrots before bedtime. Yes. A nightmare brought on by indigestion.

After Harry stopped being in denial he felt a great urge to swear. However, he settled on gurgling. Angrily.

A spit bubble of rage followed.

Little Harry didn't know that if the events that happened next had never occurred, he would have spent the next 10 years in that stupid oversized closet.

All that commotion had shaken down the curled up, dried spider carcasses from the nooks and crannies above Harry. As the spiders hit the floor, they gave a twitch and as one turned all eight of their eyes toward the scowling baby. They scuttled closer, mandibles clicking in excitement. As the spiders began swarming around him, Harry gave a small giggle as their hairy legs tickled his soft skin. The spiders, in an effort to prove their reverence, decided to make the young child a nest fit for a king. Their silk was spun and Harry wriggled in glee.

A few hours later when the mulish woman finally decided to check on the baby to make sure it was still alive and all that nonsense, she was greeted to the sight of a giant ball of spider webs with spiders crawling and jumping through the various tunnels that decorated the structure. Harry's green eyes blazed through a small hole.

The woman gave a bloodcurdling scream.

Harry was promptly moved into the spare room upstairs.

Over the next few years, Harry learned that the pathetic excuses for human beings whose doorstep he had been left on were his relatives. And his caretakers. Joy.

There was also a blonde little boy that was his cousin, Dudley. Dudley amused Harry only because he was round like a beach ball and therefore took an inordinately long time to stand up again when pushed over. Growing up, being denied toys and affection, this was Harry's favorite hobby. Oddly enough, whenever Dudley tried to bully Harry around he found himself the victim of whatever meat was for dinner that day.

After the incident with the bacon and a near strangulation when the piece of pork took a flying leap at the fat boy's neck rolls, Dudley mellowed out.

Harry himself _hated _meal times. It was always loud and annoying, even with the Dursleys cowering in their chairs and not daring to let out a whisper. All those questions…

'_Where did my head go? Did _they_ eat it?'_

'_Have you seen my mother? I saw her at the pasture…'_

'…_I seem to be scooped out and stuffed with some strange mixture. Why is this?'_

It nearly drove him crazy.

Well, according to his relatives, he _was_ crazy. Especially after they witnessed him shouting "Shut up! Just shut up before I stab you in the eye with my salad fork!" at the roast turkey during Christmas dinner.

At four years old, Harry became a vegetarian.

There were, of course, good things that came from all this weirdness. Whenever his Aunt or Uncle got the idea to shout at Harry or call him anything unsavory, the furniture shook and swarms of flies kamikazied the windows. Their survival instincts eventually won over their profound stupidity and the treatment of their nephew underwent a vast improvement. Harry secretly suspected it was just because Aunt Petunia got sick of cleaning fly guts off the windows. Either way, Harry began to enjoy life.

More or less, anyway.

When Harry turned six, his relatives tried sending him to school alongside Dudley. _Try_ was the operative word.

During the customary introductions on the first day all the children were asked about their aspirations in life. When his turn came, Harry thought deeply about his passion. "An undertaker." he replied, remembering the hours of amusement derived from playing with a newly buried Scottish terrier that belonged to Mrs. Fellburg from number 6. When the old woman saw Harry giving her dead bog a belly rub, she screamed and promptly dragged the child to the Dursleys who had to endure scathing remarks about proper child raising protocol. His relatives remained silent, not daring to offend the boy who stood next to Mrs. Fellburg with a chilling grin on his young, pale face.

"…Excuse me?" the teacher asked, taken aback, "I think you misunderstood the question, Harry. Do you even know what an undertaker _does_?"

"Mmm hmm. They're the ones who get to play with the yummy dead bodies." Harry said, battling his eyelashes innocently, "I _like_ the dead."

The Dursleys were called in for an emergency parent teacher conference where it was decided that the best thing to do all around was to home school Harry. As in, right away. Perhaps consulting a psychiatrist wouldn't hurt either.

Harry was taken home and enjoyed a rare freedom that not many children had. He had no chores to complete (his scathing snort was enough for Aunt Petunia at this point in time when she hesitatingly asked that he weed the garden), no school to go to and could laze away the whole day if he so pleased. Thankfully, Harry _wasn't_ lazy and therefore eagerly gobbled up the books that he insisted his relatives buy him. Harry was no dunce, thank you very much. Unlike some other unnamed people in that house. And so he learned and grew and began to seriously consider switching species if who he was surrounded by was any indication of the utter idiocity of the human race. Meanwhile, friends of the Dursleys complained that they were never invited over anymore. Petunia could only shrug morosely and think up a quick excuse.

After he turned ten, Harry had the opportunity to go to the zoo for the first time ever.

"Oh, Dudleykins, you'll just have so much fun! You remember the monkeys and tigers don't you?" Petunia gushed from the front seat of the car, "I can't believe my little baby is finally eleven years old! You're getting so big!'

"You're a man now, Dudley-" Vernon ignored Harry's choked laugh, "-soon you'll be working alongside your old man in the drill business. A father 'n son team. Yes siree."

"If you people insist on talking like that any longer, I'm going to projectile vomit in your faces." Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

The talk promptly quieted down.

'_Ah_,' Harry thought smugly, '_I've trained them well._' He resisted the urge to cackle, figured what the hell and did it anyway. The Dursleys flinched.

When they arrived at the zoo, Harry grabbed some money from Vernon and separated from the rest of his relatives. He meandered along slowly, glancing at the various animals without any real interest.

'_This is far less interesting than I expected. Where's the death? The carnage? The incompetent zoo workers being mauled by lions?_'

"I am displeased." Harry stressed to a middle aged woman he passed by. His eye twitched when her reaction _wasn't_ to dive into the alligator pit to alleviate his boredom. What was _wrong_ with people these days? Didn't they know who was in charge around here? Obviously not, if everyone was going to just walk around and ignore him like that.

Scowling, he continued walking around the different exhibits. He was this close to calling the day a waste and demanding that his relatives take him home when he spotted the reptile house. Mood lifting higher by the second, he picked up his pace and was soon in the dark, cool room surrounded by glass cages filled with all sorts of exciting things. Harry gazed in awe and a slight bit of longing at the area devoted to all the poisonous snakes. He pressing his face up against the enclosure of a king cobra, whimpering.

"I wish…I wish you could all be out of your cages and running free…after all the people. Would you do that for me? I would give you cookies. Mouse filled _cookies_."

His pouting was cut short as the glass disappeared and he fell into the cobra's cage, "Woah!"

Harry found himself nose to snout with the cobra, eyes wide. The cobra gazed at him with its yellow eyes, hood flared. For what felt like hours, it didn't move. Suddenly, it extended its body into the air and took a deep bow, tongue flickering out and touching Harry on the cheek.

"_Asss you wisssh, Massster."_

The cobra slithered out and it was just around that time when Harry realized that everyone was screaming and every single enclosure was open. The dozens of poisonous snake were surrounding tourists, crawling into clothes and constricting various appendages.

Harry skipped out of the reptile house with a big smile on his face and dodged the multitude of panicking zoo workers. This day, he decided, could not get any better. After he found his relatives and assured them that lots of people were probably dead all thanks to him, he spent the entire ride home grinning.

That was the last interesting thing to happen until the day he turned eleven, when a strange letter arrived with his name on it.


	3. In Which Harry Gets a Pet

AN: Wow, I really didn't expect such a response from you guys. :D It makes me squee. Yes. Deeply in my heart.

(Or it could just be a clogged artery. But I digress.)

But anywaaay, thank you!

Quick question to any of you who actually read this AN, how many of you watch/enjoy/obsess over the Resident Evil movies? I…must know before I issue a challenge/request thing. Tell meeee….or I'll make Harry fall in love with Hagrid. So help me, I'll do it. (Er, no. Oh god. The images.)

* * *

When Harry shambled down to the kitchen early in the morning, he decided that today was going to be a good day. The sky was dark with approaching clouds and the thought of a nice downpour was refreshing. Seeing his relatives cower at the breakfast table was also refreshing, albeit in a slightly different way.

"Good morning!" he called out jovially, beaming at their sweating, pale faces. Honestly, Harry got that reaction every single time he decided to bless them with his presence during meals. It was...pleasurable, to say the least, to see them shaking and quivering and all manner of other I'm-going-to-piss-my-pants-so-help-me-god things. He got warm fuzzies in his chest whenever he pictured their fear in his mind.

"G-good morning, Harry…" Petunia mumbled quietly, eyes adverted. Vernon grunted grudgingly in the same way a person would grunt if faced with a situation where any slightest wrong move would get their head torn off and force fed up their anus.

It was a stressful way to live. No wonder Vernon was finding more and more grey hairs every day.

Harry sat down at the table, glancing down at his cereal with diced bananas floating merrily in the milk. The rest of his family stayed rigid, waiting for him to take the first bite. It was one of the rules Harry had implemented during his earlier years while feeling bored one day. Amusingly enough, it was never enforced. It didn't need to be.

The young boy practically purred as the tasty yellow pieces touched his tongue. Ah, fruit. How he loved it so.

He was interrupted from his fantasies of a fruit salad for lunch by the thump next to the door.

"Er, Mail's here." Vernon hesitatingly brought up, "Dudley, get the mail."

"Make the freak get it!" Dudley protested, banging his chubby fists on the table and causing the dishes to shake.

In fairness, Dudley wasn't very bright.

"Oh, _Dudley_." Harry smiled widely before Petunia could start making excuses for her son's shoddy manners. "You're so _funny_. Now why don't you be a good little piggy and get the mail like your daddy told you. Or should I see how you taste when I roast you over an open fire, lathered in your own disgusting fat?"

Dudley squeaked, stumbled from his chair, tripped, and practically fell into the hallway.

'_Oh yes,_' Harry thought, ego sky rocketing, '_it's good to be me_.'

Slowly, Dudley made his way back into the kitchen, eyes bulging in his round face.

"What do you say, Dudlykins?" Petunia demanded, a hysterical tilt to her already shrill voice.

"I-I'm…" Dudley's very nature rebelled against this grave injustice to his person, "I-…Dad, do I have to?" he whined.

"SAY IT DUDLEY!" Vernon shouted, squeezing his fork with white knuckles.

Dudley hesitated, staring at his parents and then at his creepy cousin. "FINE. I'm-…sorry. I guess." he said petulantly, crossing his arms in front of his massive blubber of a chest.

"You're forgiven. Now go stand outside for a few hours and think about what you did." Harry said, waving a hand in a dismissing manner. "Shoo!" he snarled when Dudley hesitated. The fat boy waddled out into the backyard as fast as he could, chins trembling.

"Ah, Harry. Please. It's going to rain soon." His aunt pleaded, glancing worriedly in the direction of her son.

"Yes, I know. Dear Aunt, you should be thanking me! Now you won't have to give that little whale his bath tonight! Just think of how much money I'm saving you in water costs."

"But-"

"And as _thanks_," Harry continued, "I'd like for you two to give up the master bedroom. I'm getting older, you see, and clearly need more room. This shall be done by tomorrow, yes? Naturally you won't expect me to actually move furniture by myself as that would be _far_ beneath me, as I'm sure you'd agree. So you'd best get a move on after breakfast."

Vernon made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

"I'll take that as yes." Harry smiled benignly, digging into his cereal.

Seeing that her husband was torn between decking that unnatural brat in the face and preserving his own life, and was most likely going to just sit there in a shaking rage for a good few minutes, Petunia took up the bundle of letters from where Dudley had dropped them. She shuffled through them halfheartedly, not paying much attention until a strange thick envelope caught her notice. Reading the cursive green script, she stifled a gasp and tried to inconspicuously hide the letter in the stack again before her nephew saw it.

'_Of all the dratted things to happen…!_' she thought in a panic, a light sheen breaking out on her skin, '_If he goes off to that school, he'll learn all sorts of freakish things. He'll get more powerful. Then he'll come back here and-'_

"Aunt," Harry asked, gazing at her with narrowed eyes, "Is there something wrong?"

"N-no, no! Of course not! Just bills, yes, nothing for you to worry about, it's just bills-" Petunia stammered, trying not to look at Harry.

"Oh? I sure hope that's all there is, because if I find out you're _lying_ to me…" He left the threat open. He refused to think that the only reason for that was that he simply couldn't think of a proper threat with so little notice. He was Harry Potter, damn it. And ending a threat with 'or I'll do _stuff_ to you. Lots of bad _stuff_.' was just now how he went about things.

Petunia whimpered, wishing she was somewhere else.

Harry cleared his throat pointedly.

After a moment's hesitation, his aunt slowly handed over the envelope, hands trembling and nearly dropping the letter before Harry snatched it away from her.

"So, just what's so important about this thing that you'd try to keep it from me, huh?" Harry asked absentmindedly, studying the odd letter. _Tacky_ sprang to mind when he looked it over properly. Humming a little tune, he ripped open the side of the envelope and read the contents, eyebrow slowly rising into his hairline.

"Well. This-…certainly explains things, doesn't it?" Harry grinned, folding his hands in front of his face and propping his elbows on the table. The two Dursleys avoided eye contact, seized with the sudden urge to go to church and never leave. Perhaps hole up in the confession booth with the ceremonial wine and weep on the priest's shoulder while bemoaning their lot in life. And, you know, confess. Before the end came.

Which, Vernon thought, chancing a quick peek at his nephew, might be coming sooner than anyone expected.

The silence stretched on.

A cricket chirped outside.

"Judging from your actions when you saw the letter, that means," here, Harry faked a little astonished gasp, "why, you must have _known_! For shame, and you never even told me! _Me_, your precious, adorable, lovable only nephew in the whole wide world!"

"Er, Harry…that letter..it's probably just a joke!" Petunia argued, staring pleadingly at her husband for some moral support.

"Yeah. Yeah, what your aunt said. All this nonsense about magic, its rubbish! I won't stand for it in my house!" Vernon nodded his head, moustache quivering in agreement.

"Magic, uncle?" Harry asked innocently, "Who said anything about magic? I don't believe I've ever mentioned it, nor the contents of this letter. About which, may I add, you seem to know quite a lot. Kooky, huh?"

Vernon looked flustered, face quickly assuming a deep purple tint.

"Anyway, assuming this letter is real, because honestly, who would be stupid enough to try to prank _me, _we'll all find out the truth tomorrow. It says that a professor from the school will be coming here at noon to take me shopping."

"I-I won't have those freaks in my house!" Petunia shrieked wildly.

"Pfft, please." Harry made a dismissive gesture with his hand, "As far as _I'm_ concerned, this is _my_ house. And you are just the annoying help who don't know their place. So there. End of conversation."

"Look, you little-"

"Vernon, Vernon. You seem to have a lot of pent up energy. So why don't you do something productive and…bake me a cake, hmm? A chocolate one. With strawberries. Chop chop."

Harry batted his dark eyelashes and hopped off the chair, spinning around to face his relatives. "And just to make sure that everything gets done like it's supposed to, I've hired a supervisor!" He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rumpled looking ball of fur. The ball twitched, rolling around a bit before stretching out and poking out a beady eyed little head with yellow teeth and bent whiskers.

Harry beamed at his relative's horrified faces, "I call her Miss Puff-Fluff, and I rescued her being eaten by Mrs. Figg's cat. Well," he glanced at the shredded remains of Miss Puff-Fluff's rump and the her complete lack of a lower jaw, "_mostly eaten_, at any rate."

"What do you think? Isn't she completely precious?" Harry asked, cuddling the gnawed-on rat against his cheek.

Petunia made a strangled noise and looked ready to faint. Vernon wasn't faring much better.

"Clearly you're stricken into silence with her cuteness and unable to answer, so I'll take that as a yes."

Harry gently placed Miss Puff-Fluff on the kitchen table and patted her on the head, making soft little cooing noises reminiscent of ones that a mother might make to her newborn baby. "Now Miss Puff-Fluff, I'm counting on you to make sure that the Dursleys behave, ok?"

The rat squeaked, tongue flopping from its mangled snout.

"Awh, I know you'll do a good job. 'Cause you're so smart and I love you and who's my darling little fluff fluff?"

If this was anyone else talking like an idiot to an undead rodent, they would have gotten beaten up without even a second thought. However, since this was Harry we're talking about, he was allowed some moments of…not-quite-masculinity. And anyone who said otherwise would find bits of grandma in their dinner one day.

With one last farewell to his pet, Harry skipped upstairs after making sure Dudley was still standing out in the yard. He resisted the urge to squeal.

_Magic_! It was _real_! There might even be a whole society of people who had his gifts and-

Harry skidded to a stop.

"_FUCK!"_

He whimpered, throwing himself onto his bed and curling up into a little ball of misery.

All this time Harry had thought that he was special, the only one with such powers, the chosen _God _of this forsaken little planet! And now…now he was about to be _usurped_ by some newcomers who showed off by sending mail with old parchment instead of regular paper like normal people!

This just would not do.

A tear leaked from the corner of Harry's eye as he wallowed in despair and melodramatics. He sniffled as images of his fall from grace assaulted his mind like calories at an all-you-can-eat restaurant.

That day Harry refused to come out of his room, taking comfort from Miss Puff-Fluff who had squished underneath his doorframe to inform him that his cake was ready. He promptly rang the little bell on his night stand to summon a Dursley to bring him the whole thing.

Hours later, Harry finally fell asleep with chocolate smeared on most of his face and a living-impaired rat on his chest.

The next morning, Harry woke up in a better mood. He had decided that maybe he was overreacting to this whole mess. The letter might have just been a prank, like his aunt had suggested, in which case all this worrying was for nothing and he could continue his easy existence of future-overlord-of-the-world. And if it was true, well…

He'd deal with that issue when he had to.

Besides, it was completely impossible for him not to be special and far more powerful than everyone else. It just wasn't. End of story.

He waited impatiently in the living room, a book on _Burial Practices of the Criminally Insane _nestled in his lap. The clock ticked away, each second slower than the last.

'_So help this neighborhood if this is a joke. People are going to die.'_ He though, grinding his teeth impatiently.

Finally, the clock struck twelve.

The door shuddered under a loud bang.

Harry practically gushed his excitement as he hastily ordered Vernon to answer the door. After some grumbling from Vernon, a hairy, extremely _large_, barbaric looking man-thing entered the hallway and made a beeline for Harry as soon as he spotted the boy.

"Ah, there ye are, 'Arry!" he shouted, "Glad to see the muggles didn't give ye any trouble!"

Harry was nearly catapulted off the couch when the giant sat down with all his weight next to him. Harry twitched.

"Do I know you?" he asked, not liking when complete strangers acted so…chummy with him.

"Why, sure ye do! I'm the one that brought ye to your relatives ten years ago. Ye can call me 'Agrid, lad." Hagrid boomed, obviously unable to use his _library voice_.

"You _were_?" Harry asked sweetly, eyes narrowing speculatively.

"On Dumbledore's orders. Great man, that Dumbledore." Hagrid said with the air of one who had just seen Jesus in a marijuana induced vision.

"I see. I hope I can meet him someday so I can _thank him_ for placing me with my dear aunt and uncle." As young as he was, Harry knew his family didn't care for him one bit. He vaguely remembered being thrown into a cupboard within the hour of his arrival in this house, and that was definitely not something loving relatives did. Harry shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if he never had any powers in the first place. _'Yuck. A life of servitude and drudgery? Not in a million years.'_

Harry zoned out after hearing from Hagrid that Albus Dumbledore was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, which was where he would be going come September 1st. He completely ignored the smooshed cake the hairy oaf presented him with as he imagined all the different ways that Dumbledore would suffer for placing a helpless baby with people like the Dursleys. This would require revenge of the most drastic sort, he was sure. There would be blood, and pain, and perhaps even a creative use of chainsaws. But most importantly, there would be death. Oh yes.

"-Are ye ready, 'Arry?"

Harry blinked, losing his train of thought, "Pardon?"

"I'm 'ere to take you shopping now. Don't tell me ye already forgot, lad!"

"Oh. Right." Harry smoothed down his clothes as he stood up and made his way outside. He felt a jab of confusion at the complete lack of a car or other vehicle in the driveway that didn't belong to the Dursleys. "Er, and how exactly are we to get there? Fly?" He sneered, vowing that he definitely would _not_ be walking to wherever the giant man wanted to take him. He would be _carried_, if it came down to it.

"No, no. Ye aren't allowed a broom till ye'r second year, 'Arry. We'll be taking the Knight Bus." And with that, Hagrid raised a pink umbrella into the air and a loud bang filled the street. Harry took a hasty step back as a violently purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of him. He nearly collapsed as Hagrid placed a beefy hand on his shoulder in a seemingly comforting manner as he saw his first proof of magic. The door of the bus swung open and a pimply faced young man started at them.

"Leaky Cauldron." Hagrid said shortly and pushed Harry forward up the steps of the bus.

"That'll be eleven sickles. For an extra two sickles you can get hot chocolate, and for an extra two you get a hot water bottle and a tooth-"

"No thanks, Stan, not today." Hagrid handed over the money and Harry found himself squarely planted on a shaky bed. He bristled in indignation. If that beast of a man tried to touch him or push him one more time, he was not going to be responsible for the consequences. Honestly, the _nerve_ of some people!

His vengeful feelings quickly sky rocketed as his face nearly met the widow when the bus lurched off with another band and Harry just managed to grab onto the edge of the bed and avoid that embarrassing incident. he rest of the ride passed with Harry being Not Happy and considering going home and avoiding this mess. Hagrid attempted some small talk, but after a complete failure in getting any responses from the boy, he settled on telling him about the Wizarding World and how wonderful his parents were. That stopped soon enough after Harry answered with, "Well, they obviously weren't _that_ great since they managed to get themselves killed."

Uncomfortable silence followed.

After what felt like forever, Harry was unceremoniously prodded off the bus and found himself facing the seediest looking pub he had ever seen in his life.

"You don't actually expect me to go _in there_, do you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Nonsense, 'Arry. It's the only entrance to Diagon Alley. It's a fine place, ye'll see."

Harry wasn't very reassured.

The inside of the Leaky Cauldron was even worse than the outside. Musty, dirty and sporting a horrible décor, it wasn't the best place to introduce Harry to Wizarding architecture. He was less than impressed, as his wrinkled nose testified. When Harry was led to a back area and proudly shown a brick wall, he promptly ranked Wizards a few pegs under Dudley and started to turn around to escape this insanity.

"Now wait just a second, lad. Diagon Alley is right through there." Hagrid gestured at the wall and began tapping at various bricks.

Harry made a derisive snort, "Haven't you people ever heard of a _door_, then?"

The bricks suddenly parted into a wide opening, showing the shops of Diagon Alley in all their glory.

"Welcome 'Arry, to Diagon Alley!" Hagrid grinned, small black eyes twinkling.

Harry blinked.

"Oh."

* * *

Good grief, I thought I was going to get through the shopping trip in this chapter, but the Dursleys just wouldn't shut up. So that'll happen in the next chapter.

Ngk. I hate writing Hagrid's accent. It's the bane of my existence.

-prods the AN at the top of the page- Don't forget to give me an answer!


	4. In Which There is Racism

AN: Oh snap. How many months has it been? I'm a giant failure. XD;; But better late than never, right? This chapter is unbeta'd because I wanted to get it out quickly so…please point out any mistakes you find.

Ok, this chapter killed me. I've been so out of the groove when it came to writing and the Diagon Alley scene was just so annoying to write. x_x I can't wait till the action starts. And the porn. Mostly the porn.

* * *

Diagon Alley was, Harry thought, not quite what he had been expecting. There were shops, sure, and lots of buildings. There were things that Harry hadn't even imaged could exist before today; marvelous and shiny objects that he couldn't help but look at as Hagrid led him along the cobblestone streets.

There were also cauldrons and lots of cats and newt eyes. People wearing robes and pointy hats hurried along on errands, some discussing the prices of unicorn horns and dragon scales in irritated voices.

It was with a startling realization that Harry stopped, standing in the middle of the throng of people and ignoring the giant of a man who asked Harry what was wrong.

"This can't be right." Harry muttered, narrowing his eyes and looking very disgruntled.

"What are you goin' on about there, lad?"

"Don't you _see_?" Harry demanded, sweeping his arms out dramatically, "All of this, the people, the clothes!"

"You've lost me, 'Arry." Hagrid said, confused. That poor boy, so amazed by the splendor of Diagon Alley that he still hadn't gotten over his first impression of it. Ah, he sighed softly, to be young again.

"_It's a walking cliché!_" Harry cried, feeling somehow cheated over this entire experience. "I mean, look at this nonsense! It's like you people saw a cartoon on TV about witches and someone said, 'By George, look at this! Let us create a culture based off of this cartoon and be _walking stereotypes_ forever!' and someone else was all, 'Yes! Brilliant! Those black robes _are_ quite slimming!' and there was this one guy who was against the whole idea but the other two threw him in the oven, cooked and _ate_ him, because that's just what witches _do_, right?!"

Harry sniffed pathetically, "I bet there are castles and ghosts and mermaids, too. I wouldn't put it past you people. I just want you to know that you've _ruined_ any joy I might get from there being a whole world of magic. I hope you're happy."

"Er, 'Arry…" Hagrid began nervously, seeing that by the end of Harry's little speech they had began to attract an audience.

"No. Don't talk to me." Harry said, crossing his arms and turning his back on his tour guide. This wasn't at all how he pictured his introduction to his heritage going. First of all, _what the hell_? Second, he might as well have stayed home and had everything delivered by catalogue because this was a giant waste of valuable time he could have used on other things, like sleeping or having one of his indentured servants make a pillow for Miss Puff Fluff. Once you got over your shock of 'Ooh, the wall makes a door. _Amazing_.', everything else looked pretty much like a town during the middle ages, except for it not smelling 'cause of all the raw sewage and disease and stuff. So while Harry liked historical tours as much as the next child, that is to say, _not at all_, he wasn't too impressed with the place.

Harry's internal musings were cut short as he found himself being turned around and nudged toward a white marble building. He gritted his teeth and shooed Hagrid's hands away with a muttered 'No Touchy.'

Hagrid was determined to ignore the blatant bad mood of the Boy Who Lived, just _knowing_ that the poor little child was suffering from a severe case of culture shock. Harry would be right as rain as soon as he got used to the wonder of magic.

"This, 'Arry, is Gringotts. It's the wizarding bank!" Hagrid cried, leading Harry up the steps and pausing dramatically in front of the doors to give the boy a chance to read the foreboding poem inscribed upon them.

"Yes, yes. It's lovely." Harry said dismissively, shoving open the doors without a pause and stomping inside.

He quickly stopped.

"What's with the midgets?" He asked, staring at the ugly little…whatever those were. The midgets in hearing rage promptly gave him dirty looks.

"Those are _Goblins_, 'Arry. They run the bank. You'd best keep on their good side; they can get good 'n vicious when they want t' be." Hagrid answered, being all kinds of helpful.

Harry let out a deep sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of _course_ they are."

There was a moment of silence.

"So…" Harry began again, "I've decided to set up an account or whatever you want me to do here in _another _bank. Not to be racist, but I'd rather do my business with something that doesn't have fangs." He nodded his head over at one of the Goblins who was sneering at him with a mouth full of pointy teeth. He doubted that 'attacked by a Goblin gone postal' would be covered by his health insurance.

Hagrid guffawed, reaching out to pat Harry's head and being left hanging as Harry dodged and kicked the fluffy bastard in the shin. "No can do, m' boy. This 'ere is the _only_ bank."

"Excuse me?"

"No other bank exists!"

Harry made a distressed sound, "Well naturally." He debated the benefits of throwing a fit over this ridiculous money monopoly but in the end decided to just…let it go. Something told him there would be many more instances of retardation before the day was over. He followed Hagrid up to one of the numerous counters and kept a blank expression on his face throughout the whole transaction.

And then…

A roller coaster ride.

In the _bank_.

Sigh.

He ignored whatever stupid package Hagrid had to pick up (really, did the guy have to run errands _now_?) and before he knew it, they were standing in front of a whole _shitload_ of gold.

"I claim it as my own." Harry said.

"Well yeah, m' boy. This is the trust vault left to you by your parents." Hagrid explained, not even bothering to grab Harry as the boy tackled the nearest gold pile and embraced it lovingly.

It was all so very shiny. And his. All his. Harry felt tears of joy prick his eyes as he took in just how massive the vault and its contents really were. He had never lacked funds, per say, but there was only so much money he could take out of Vernon's check before the bills started piling up.

"So this is just the trust vault, you say? There's a bigger one?" He asked, suddenly feeling so much better about this whole mess.

"The family vault. But ye' won't be able to access it until 'ye reach seventeen years." Hagrid started shoveling some of the coins into a small pouch, only to have it ripped out of his hands by the furious boy. " 'Arry…?"

"Woah, woah, woah! What do you think you're doing with my money?!" Harry demanded, scowling at the big oaf.

"Ye' need to bring some to go shopping, 'Arry! How else did ye' think you were goin' to be buying what you need?"

"Well that's…alright then. I suppose. But keep your hands off my stuff or I will _end_ you!" He made sure to fill the pouch to the brink with the shiniest golden coins until the material bulged, not bothering to listen to Hagrid's protests about not needing all of that.

After another ridiculous ride they were back in the sunlight and Harry found himself forced on top of a foot stool while a woman (witch?) molested him with a tape measure. Next to him, a blonde boy was suffering the same faith. They stared at each other until the blonde finally spoke.

"Hello," said the blonde, "Hogwarts too?"

"So everyone's been saying." Harry stated, swearing to himself that he would never ever wear those horrid robes the woman was forcing on him as the other boy blathered on and on about his father, brooms, and various other things Harry wasn't interested in.

"Have _you_ got your own broom?" the blonde went on.

"I generally try to leave the sweeping to the servants." Did this kid have some kind of broom fetish or what?

The blonde let out a laugh, "Oh, that's funny. Seriously though, what model do you have?"

Harry eyed him oddly, "I'm sure I don't know. I didn't really…check."

"Not a Quidditch fan, then?"

"No." Where the hell was Hagrid and his explanations when you needed him? This was ridiculous.

"…That's ok, I suppose. Do you know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No." Harry was going with that whole 'don't look like an ignorant idiot by asking stupid questions' strategy. It was working so far, although not knowing what they were talking about was really annoying and Harry didn't approve at all.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all out family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Harry imagined that the boy was so chatty because he had been locked away in the basement his whole life with only a bottle of glue to talk to. Eventually the glue left him too, just like everyone else he had ever loved, and he gnawed his own toes off in an angsty rage. The whole idea made Harry feel much less rage over the irritating child.

"I'm just hoping that I'll get a house with a somewhat non-stupid name. So far, I'm not seeing much evidence pointing towards that."

The blonde opened his mouth to reply before something outside caught his attention, "I say, look at that man!"

Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come it.

"That's Hagrid. He's my tour guide." Harry said, suddenly feeling ashamed. Couldn't the school have sent a more…well-groomed person instead? Maybe he should have claimed he didn't know the giant idiot. Oh, it was all so bothersome! How was he supposed to prove his superiority when men who could easily pass as hobos followed him around?

"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"

"Do you look at him and honestly think he could make it in any other kind of profession?" Harry asked.

The blonde sniggered, "Doubtful. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ – lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."

And they left a man like that unsupervised with a frail, defenseless eleven year old boy? _Lovely_. Harry's enthusiasm for Hogwarts was fading by the minute. Just what kind of an idiot ran that school!? If that oaf left even so much as a bruise on his glorious person, Harry was going to sue. Sue so _hard_.

"Well that's just great." Harry said, voice clearly showing just how 'not great' it truly was.

"Why is he with you anyway? Where are your parents?"

Harry sighed, "The idiots got themselves blown up or something so they couldn't make it here themselves. So, I'm stuck with that idiot."

"Oh, sorry." Said the other, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were _our_ kind, weren't they?"

"What, white? I'm not Jamaican, if that's what you're asking." How racist. Harry took in the boy's pale complexion and ultra blonde hair with a raised eyebrow. Was the boy one of those neo-Nazi types?

"No! I meant were they magical?"

"Oh." Why couldn't he have just said that in the first place? "Yes. But it didn't seem to have helped them to avoid that whole 'dying a horrible death' business, so I don't think they were very _good_ magical people."

What followed was a mini-rant from the blonde about 'the right sort of people' which just made Harry even surer about his little neo-Nazi speculations. Well, Harry supposed, you found racists everywhere. Even in a Halloween-themed medieval village.

"What's your surname, anyway?" The boy asked, bringing Harry's attention back to him.

Before Harry could answer along the lines of 'You're supposed to introduce yourself first, you cretin.', he was interrupted by the witch telling he was done. Harry, wanting to just get this day over with, quickly hopped off the stool and marched out the door, ignoring the blonde's goodbye.

His enthusiasm to be outside again dwindled as Hagrid accosted him with half-melted ice cream.

The next few hours passed in a giant blur of nonsense and retardation. He was told to buy other cliché items like a cauldron and potion ingredients, got a wand from a creepy man Harry was sure was a closet pedophile from the way he stared at Harry, and an owl for mail. He didn't have anyone to write to, but he figured it'd be good to have a way to contact a lawyer if he ever needed one. Honestly, even though Harry had filled his money pouch to the brink, there really wasn't anything interesting to buy. Sure, he got some extra books, but…no flying carpets? No vicious three-headed dragons? What a rip-off.

Weary, Harry let himself be dragged back home, arms laden with packages that he would have made Hagrid carry if he didn't think the idiot would have accidentally sat on them. That would have led to another trip to Diagon Alley and Harry didn't think his sanity could take it.

Harry waved Hagrid off with a, "Just go away and leave me alone! And brush your hair, you dirty baboon!" after he was told instructions for the train.

He collapsed on his bed, not bothering to unpack. Miss Puff-Fluff crawled onto his chest and nuzzled his face in sympathy as Harry whined about the horrid world he'd been thrust into.

It wasn't magical at all.

It was a Disney movie.

With Nazis.

* * *

AN: Draco's dialogue was pilfered out of the book but thankfully I'm not going to need to do that much after this.

Also, thanks to all those people who wanted to be my beta! I love you all. :3


	5. In Which Harry is Molested

AN: This was supposed to be out a LOT sooner, believe me. Unfortunately the world hates me. The hard drive that I had all the info and outlines for this fic on died a gruesome death. So until I get the stuff transferred over to the new hard drive…er…yeah. Hopefully next week I'll get that done. Not only that, but nursing school is kicking my butt. XD I'm managing to get all A's but it's time consuming.

I didn't want to make you guys wait any longer so here's a short little interlude before the Hogwarts stuff starts. Next chapter will be long and full of goodness.

* * *

There were only a few days left before September 1st and Harry was taking a relaxing walk to enjoy the warm weather.

Well, alright. It was actually more along the lines of 'sulking-and-trying-to-forget-the-impending-horror-while-distracting-himself-with-scenery-and-ultraviolet-radiation', but thinking of it along _those_ lines seemed a bit counterproductive to that whole _forgetting_ business.

So there he was. Strolling. Sniffing flowers. It was all very exciting and whatnot.

He was just overflowing with summer joy.

Ugh.

In truth, anything that got him away from the house and his school supplies was alright by him. So while Harry would have preferred to stay in his room and read, it just…wasn't an option anymore. Whenever his eyes landed on his school trunk or wand (it had all been tossed into a corner the second he got home) his mind wandered back to the world he would soon have to enter - and whenever _that_ happened, something would inevitably burst into flames.

Why oh _why_ couldn't the magical world be less _retarded_?

Harry sighed.

There was really no use in feeling sorry for himself. But even though he said that…

Another sigh.

Harry kept walking, his body going through the motions even as his thoughts focused on other, less pleasant things. Eventually, he came upon something that would normally cause him to speed on by in a panic.

A graveyard.

It was, as far as graveyards went, a pleasant place. Neatly trimmed grass, pretty trees and fresh flowers as far as the eye could see. Nothing spooky or horror-movie-ish about it.

And you would think that Harry would be all over such a place, what with his love of all things rotting and living-impaired.

Yeah, you'd think that.

You'd be wrong.

Ever since Harry was a baby, he'd been drawn to death. That was just a fact. The graveyard wasn't an exception to that matter, either.

However…

Harry didn't know how to explain it, there was just something very, very unnerving about dead people. It wasn't like he thought they'd eat him alive and tear him to pieces, nothing like that. All he knew was that whenever a hearse drove by or he was in vaguely close proximity to the dead, he got the feeling that he was being scrutinized in a highly freaky way.

_Closely_ scrutinized.

Like they were undressing him with their milky, unfocused eyes.

Harry shuddered.

Hence, he made it a point to stay the hell away.

Unfortunately, the stress caused by the stupid magical fiasco had apparently made Harry lose quite a bit of brain cells because the next thing he knew the gate was swinging shut behind him and he was standing in a circle of gravestones. For a few moments, nothing happened. Harry was just beginning to think that he had been needlessly paranoid all these years (because really, what could ever hurt _him_?) when the ground seemed to wriggle.

Harry froze.

A shifting, rumbling noise filled the air as the grass tilted and was pushed away from below. Hands, some nothing more than bone, appeared shortly after. Wrists and arms followed, all reaching in the same direction.

The urge to flee, far and _away_, was buzzing through Harry. At the same time, he was filled with curiosity – would the zombies (as cliché as he felt to be using that word, let's face it, that's what they _were_) go on a rampage and have a good time noming on various Surrey residents? Would they just amble about aimlessly? He _really_ wanted to know. So even though he did not feel that it was in his best interest to stick around, he didn't move an inch.

Second by second, that perturbing feeling grew deep in his stomach.

Finally, one of the zombie's head managed to pop out of the ground like a daisy. Those eyes, or what passed as eyes since they had long rotted away, promptly focused on Harry.

"Er…" the boy cleared his throat, reminding himself who the superior being here was. "Right then. Hi. I'm Harry. Are you able to talk, or…?" Considering the lack of muscle or vocal cords, that was highly unlikely. Still, there was no reason not to ask and be polite.

There was no answer, the intensity of the air growing as more and more bodies crawled their way out of their graves and stared at Harry (who, contrary to what other's might have said, was _not_ fidgeting, thank you very much!). They slowly closed in, inch by inch. One of fresher looking zombies, a vaguely middle-aged man from what Harry could tell, took the lead. The man's claw like hand clutched at Harry's shiny shoe, working its way up to the boy's ankle.

"Hey now!" Harry protested, really not liking the look the zombies were giving him. He gave his foot a little shake to get the hand off of him – it, unfortunately, didn't seem to work very well.

Harry was usually a very affectionate boy. He cherished Miss Puff-Fluff and petted and hugged every animal to cross his path. He cried during Bambi!

Well alright, that last part didn't really have much to do with anything.

Still, the point was that in any other circumstance Harry would be all about lavishing his undead minions with love and attention. But holy crap on a stick, these dead folks were creeping him out! There was something so very alarming in the way they stared at him, mouths practically salivating in a way that he really hoped didn't mean hunger.

He paused for a moment to wonder about that.

How does one salivate without salivary glands?

His musings were cut short as another hand crept where no hand had gone before. Harry gave an embarrassed shriek, not liking the fact that it made him sound more like a little girl than the future god/overlord of the planet.

It took him all of his dodging skill but he managed to work his way out of the group of undead, smoothing down his clothes in jerky movements and trying in vain to retain his composure. A blush stood out starkly on his pale face as he did his best to glare at the advancing zombies.

"I don't know what in the world you were doing but that was just – just rude! I don't even have _words _for you people! I'm going to leave now and I hope you think about what you've done! For _shame_!"

After his emotional speech, Harry promptly high tailed it out of there.

Miss Puff-Fluff gave a little start as her Master skidded into his room and quickly locked the door. He stumbled his way over to the window overlooking the street, panting loudly and nervously glancing about.

So far, so good.

Harry thanked the universe that none of the zombies were able to move any faster than a narcoleptic snail. Even with that glorious fact on his side, he still ran all the way home at top speed. This, mind you, was no easy feat. Harry was about as unexercised a child as they come, spending his time reading and laying about.

Hence, Harry was sure his tired body was going to die at any moment.

"Miss Puff-Fluff…" he gasped out, falling onto his bed after making sure that no zombie was headed up the street, "I'm never leaving the house again. Ever."

He paused.

"I never thought I'd say this, but _dead people_ are _awful_!"

He rolled onto his back, sweat dripping down his flushed face as he shuddered over the day's events. How horrible. And really, when he thought about it more, he realized that what really pissed him off was that he still didn't know what those bastards wanted.

It would have been better if they'd at least spoken to him! If one of them had said, "We hope you don't mind, but verily, we'd enjoy feasting on your femur." then he could understand that. He'd know where they were coming from.

But no.

All he got was silence and stares.

How rude.

A sudden scream from a few blocks down grabbed his attention and he rolled off the bed, carefully peaking out the window so that nothing outside could see him.

More screams.

Gulping, Harry hoped September 1st came soon.

* * *

AN: Or sure, Harry. You don't like zombies _now_. You'll learn to appreciate them a lot more when you get older. And, you know, when you learn how to make 'em look less decomposed. Until then…er…you're out of luck.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is…if you dislike the idea of Harry having a harem of not!rotten zombies…turn back now. 'Cause it's gonna happen.


	6. In Which Harry Makes Friends

AN: Guess who's done with summer classes? Meeeeee. Yes, my hellish busyness is over and done with and let us CELEBRATE with a new chapter.

I was originally going to have this include the sorting but holy crap I can't write any more today and tomorrow I'm going swimming so you'd all get this on Sunday or something and I wanted to post it noooow and I'm _all about_ instant gratification. Also: Run on sentence. :D Yay.

By the by, you guys know how there's a link on my profile to deviant art? :D You should all totally go look at my drawings and be all "Oooooh. Aaaaaahh." Because that'd be awesome. /attention whoring

PS. Please excuse my retarded page-breaks. If anyone knows how to make nice ones without this site being all "LOL NO." then please tell me.

* * *

The day had finally arrived. After packing, which consisted of throwing everything haphazardly into his trunk while trying to avoid looking at anything magical, Harry had Vernon put it all in the car and heaved a giant sigh.

"Lucy!" He called out, sticking out his arm so that his shiny (albeit useless) post owl could make a landing. He petted the soft, white feathers, cooing in response to Lucy as she titled her round little head and half closed her eyes in pleasure. "I'm heading off to that horrible place now. You know where Hogwarts is, right?"

Lucy hooted an affirmative.

"Oh good! Go there, ok? Don't get lost on the way. And don't get shot by some idiot with a gun. And make sure you eat properly, I don't want you getting low blood sugar and passing out over a pond and drowning."

Nodding, Lucy nipped Harry on the ear and took off, gliding gracefully over the trees and scaring Mrs. Weatherby from number 6 nearly half to death as the owl playfully dive bombed the woman's rather unnecessarily fruity hat.

It brought a little tear to Harry's eye.

He and the owl had bonded while Harry was hiding out in his room. It was quite fun. Like a slumber party but without making out and pillow fights, or whatever it was that people did at slumber parties. Vernon's movies weren't very clear.

He wasn't sure how comfortable he'd be with stripping down to his underwear and letting other kids braid his hair and give him "massages". And then, you know, completely undressing and wrestling about like…like hyperactive, drooling puppies.

Sometimes he wondered about his Uncle. The man needed a hobby.

s

s

s

The drive down to King's Cross was uneventful. Harry amused himself by kicking the back of Vernon's chair and watching the overweight man's face get slowly purpler as the time went by. Then, just as the color was beginning to turn into this fascinating mix of mauve and bright red, his Uncle would glance back in the mirror, see Harry's wide smile, blanch, and sit stiffly without moving for a good fifteen minutes. Then the cycle would repeat.

It was Harry's favorite car game.

He scored points for every time Vernon nearly crashed into upcoming traffic or made neat little strangled noises from suppressed swears. Double points were awarded if the man had to pull over to take an emergency shot of his blood pressure medication.

Outside the car, Harry could see signs of past violence on many of the houses and businesses. He figured it was probably from the incident the newspapers referred to as "Gangs on PCP with jungle rot." The newscasters on TV had been going on about that for the past few days, throwing around words like _gravesite desecration_ and _nothing to worry about _and _completely harmless_.

Which didn't do much to explain the blood stains and broken windows. Or the fact that half the people on Privet Drive were missing.

Harry smelled a giant cover-up.

One day the street was filled with screams as the zombies he had accidentally brought to life went homicidal and the next, nothing. It was downright unnatural. Harry had thought about getting to the bottom of this oddness until he had gotten distracted by Miss Puff Fluff getting her head stuck behind a bookcase. He had to quickly intervene before the rodent's head had a chance to pop right off.

Again.

He flopped down ungracefully on the back seat, feeling like maybe a temper tantrum would make him feel better. But no, it seemed like too much work. Really, right now he'd just rather be back in his own bed and looking forward to starting at a normal school where he could terrorize the teachers without fear of having one of them turn him into a toad.

…Did that actually happen?

Harry realized that he had no idea how the actual schooling at Hogwarts happened. What were the punishments like? Were they chained to the ceiling and tortured for not handing in homework? 'Cause that…that would suck.

Harry would revolt. Yes.

He'd give an inspirational speech and amass a dark army out of the poor, insipid students - who could have thought about revolting earlier but _didn't _and now Harry got to be King because that's how stuff like that worked. He'd take over the school in a blaze of glory and declare that the land –nay, _continent!_ – was to be renamed Harryocalypse. Or something even cooler once he actually had time to brainstorm a name that would have just the right amount of 'awesome'.

It would be epic. There'd be songs written about him and rulers from other countries would come and ask for mercy or alliances and Harry could be all, "Whatever, I'm taking your land _and _your women!" Because according to the books Harry read, that's what overlords _said_. And then he would taunt them mercilessly from his throne of human skulls, but then again that didn't seem comfortable so maybe his throne could just be a bunch of pillows or a plushy chair or something. Yeah.

Vernon risked a nervous glance behind as the boy began to cackle in glee.

s

s

s

Car rides, as it turned out, went by a lot quicker when you were daydreaming about your imminent ruling of the world.

Harry was distracted from his internal debate over whether or not having a giant pool filled with happy dolphins was a bit too gaudy for the front yard by Vernon screeching to a halt. Unfortunately, this sent Harry crashing to the floor.

"Vernon. What. _The hell_." He muttered from his ungainly heap.

"Er, we're here!" Came the rather rushed response from Vernon, his voice so full of fake enthusiasm it nearly gave Harry a hernia.

"I can _see _that!" That was a lie. All Harry could currently see was a candy wrapper underneath the front passenger seat. He worked to fix this problem by scrambling back up to a more dignified position. "Were you _trying_ to _kill_ me?"

"….."

"VERNON!"

"Don't be stupid, boy. Why would I want to kill you?"

Harry glowered. He hadn't even left yet and _already_ the servants were getting uppity.

Grumbling, he stepped out of the car and made a point of slamming the door behind him, enjoying the way his Uncle flinched at the noise. "I don't have time to deal with you right now but so help me, come Christmas vacation, you will rue the day. _Rue_."

Vernon paled. In hindsight, maybe attempting to get the dratted brat to go flying headfirst out of the windshield and into oncoming traffic wasn't the _brightest_ idea - especially since it failed. Well, you lived and you learned. Unless you died in the process.

s

s

s

Harry stared at the ticket in his hand, brow furrowed in agitation.

He looked up.

Platform 9.

Platform 10.

There was a distinct lack of Platform 9 ¾.

He glared at the ticket, hoping that enough hatred would transform the numbers into something rational.

The seconds ticket by.

He sighed.

"This is just ridiculous." He informed his trunk, the heavy object sitting innocently by his feet, dropped there by a frantic Vernon who made a point of fleeing as soon as he could.

Harry didn't think there'd be much point in flagging down one of the station employees and asking where, exactly, the magical platform that took him to a mystical school filled with witches and wizards was supposed to be located.

Feeling his frustration quickly turn into self-pity, he pushed his trunk closer to the wall and plopped down on it. He leaned back, deciding that if the stupid wizards weren't able to make it obvious where the platform was - and seriously, was it that hard to attach a sign somewhere that only magical people could see but that would clearly explain what the hell you were meant to do? – then he was going to sit here and take a nap until someone came by to help him.

And if he was accosted by a hobo or druggie in the meantime then that was totally grounds for taking the headmaster to court for endangerment of minors. Like, he could be getting killed. Right now. And did anybody care? No.

Harry's musings were cut short as, in the process of the aforementioned leaning, he fell through the wall.

Today was not a good day for his relationship with gravity.

He imagined he must have looked quite odd, half his body on one side and half on the other. He was tempted to stay in that position just to see the reaction of the non-magical people. Unfortunately, this decision was taken out of his hands by some helpful stranger helping him up and patting him on the head, like a freakin' pet dog.

Bristling at this further injustice, he grabbed his trunk and dragged it to the train (another disappointment. A Train? Really? Did it at least _fly_?), wondering how in the hell he was going to manage to get that thing up the stairs.

He glanced around, trying to spot someone subservient enough to do the heavy lifting.

A rather amazing hat caught his eye, easily towering over the heads of other people because of its large size. It was a scruffy, vicious looking stuffed vulture, seemingly just waiting for the opportunity to rip off someone's face.

Harry wanted that hat like he had never wanted anything before in his life.

Abandoning his trunk, he made his way through the crowd on a hell bent mission to procure that fashion accessory for himself. Unfortunately, by the time he managed to squeeze through the imbeciles who _felt the need to block his path_, the hat (and the woman) were gone.

Harry scowled.

That hat…would have made the _perfect crown_.

He would not rest until he had it.

This was not the end, hat!

"E-excuse me…"

Harry's head swiveled around to face a chubby, awkward boy who was clutching a toad in his hands. "Yes?" he asked, not feeling very charitable at the moment and if that kid even _tried_ to ask him how he felt about brooms, Harry was going to smack him.

"Are you a first year too?" The boy's voice was soft and somewhat squeaky. It annoyed Harry with its very existence.

"Unfortunately."

The boy startled a bit, "Oh...uh….So you, um…"

Clearly, '_eloquent_' was not the boy's middle name.

"Yeah. Great talking to you. Really. I've gotta go now before someone steals my trunk-…" He paused. Subservient looking? Check. Meek? Check. Totally able to help with manual labor? Check.

(For Harry's purposes, '_help_' should be taken to mean '_do all the work instead_' to avoid general confusion.)

Harry promptly beamed at the boy. He grabbed the boy's sleeve and dragged him over to the entrance of the train where his trunk sat, forlorn and forgotten. "This is my trunk." He explained, pointing helpfully at the only trunk in a ten foot radius. "I need you to get it up into a compartment. Not because I myself _can't_, mind you, but because I don't want to."

Never let your enemies know your weaknesses, like a complete lack of upper body strength.

He was pretty sure that rule applied to servants as well.

The boy looked flustered – Harry got the feeling that the kid wanted to say no but didn't know how. He could totally work with that.

"What, you're not going to help?" He asked, scowling. The boy's face flushed an unattractive red.

"I-…no, I will, it's just that…"

"Just what? You're too good to help a poor little new student whose Uncle had abandoned him without even a goodbye? Well. Your parents would be _ashamed_. Like, 'thrown out of the family' ashamed. SHAME."

The boy flinched violently at the mention of 'parents' and timidly went to grab the trunk. Harry watched as his new servant tried his best to maneuver it onto the train, finally succeeding after a good few minutes of breathless heaving. Harry bound up the stairs and patted the poor boy on the head, smiling proudly. "Good job!" he crooned, "Now go find a nice compartment."

He ignored the whimpers and patiently waited until his orders were carried out.

As Harry sat in his newly claimed compartment, trunk neatly stored in the overhead and a panting servant slumped against the wall, he finally felt that things were beginning to look up again. "So!" He chirped, "What's your name?"

"N-Neville Longbottom." The boy answered, doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"It's nice to meet you, Neville. You're my servant, ok? Ok. Glad we're on the same page. Now get out."

"But-"

"Shoo." Harry gave Neville a look that sent the boy scrambling to escape the suddenly confining compartment.

Harry mentally gave himself a pat on the back - and then a physical once, because it just hadn't seemed like enough. Yes, all those hours of practicing looking scary in the mirror had _totally_ paid off. He made a mental note to send a very nice letter to the author of "How to Intimidate Your Enemies Without Going to Prison In the Aftermath."

It was a good book. He highly recommended it.

Harry stretched out on the seat, yawning. Maybe getting here so early wasn't such a neat idea. Punctuality was all well and good, but there was something to be said about sleeping in and not dying of boredom because the train wasn't leaving for another _hour_ and _whose bright idea was it to get here so early anyway?_

"Rawr." Said Harry, just to break the silence.

s

s

s

He was awakened by the compartment door slamming open. Blinking the fuzziness out of his eyes, he tried to covertly wipe away the drool that ran happily down his chin.

"Hey mate, mind if I sit here?"

Harry's eyes narrowed on this new interloper who had invaded his domain. "Yes."

"Great!" the redheaded brat exclaimed, promptly throwing his things haphazardly on the opposite seat and not even having the decency to put his trunk up without making a racket.

Harry felt rather confused. Something seemed to have gotten lost in the translation. "I…I said _yes._"

"Yeah, thanks. Everywhere else was full and my brothers kicked me out." He boy said, sulking a bit.

"You're…a bit _slow_, aren't you?" Harry asked, trying to be delicate for once in his life.

"What do mean?"

"…Nothing. Ignore me. I'm just going to sit _here_ and hopefully you're going to sit _there _and we'll get along just fine if you don't talk. Or _breathe_." He sighed, feeling too worn out after his nap to deal with this nonsense. An unfortunate fact that Harry tended to forget and then have it bite him in the ass was that naps made him tired for hours on end. He supposed it was like getting woken up in the middle of the night and then being told that you had to stay up or your bed was going to catch on fire. So even though you really, really wanted to go back to sleep you were stuck and it sucked.

The redhead was eyeing him oddly, "Mate, if I don't breath I'll _pass out_."

"You don't say."

"Yeah. The twins used to do that kind of stuff all the time when they were little to get their way but my mum just kinda ignored 'em."

"Fascinating."

"Nah, not really. When my little sister tried it, she didn't even pass out 'cause she couldn't do it all the way and then she cried when we made fun of her and mum yelled at us."

"No way."

Harry slumped back down on the seat, staring at the ceiling. Maybe if he focused enough, it'd fall down and splatter the redhead and then there'd be _silence_…

"Oi, so what's yer name, anyway?"

"Harry Potter."

"….."

Harry turned his head so that he could look at the boy. He raised an eyebrow at the wide eyed look on the redhead's face.

"What?" Harry demanded, feeling very out of the loop and not liking it one bit.

"_You're Harry Potter_?"

"I just SAID that."

The boy paused for a moment before increasing the intensity of his stare. "Can I…see it?"

Harry promptly sat straight up. "_Excuse me_?"

"Can I see it?" The boy repeated eagerly, seeming to be nearly salivating, "Just for a second?"

Suddenly, Harry wasn't feeling very comfortable. At all.

"I…I don't think…"

"Oooh, can I _touch_ it?"

The boy made a move as if to get closer to Harry, who quickly pressed himself into the corner in an attempt to avoid any bodily contact with the redhead.

"Get out!" he shrieked, "GET OUT, YOU PERVERT!"

The boy's mouth dropped open. "WHAT?"

"I KNOW WHAT YOU WANT. I WAS WARNED ABOUT YOUR KIND IN HEALTH CLASS."

"WHAT?"

The compartment door slammed open again – Harry took a moment to question why the hell it seemed like no one was able to open doors _quietly _anymore – and Harry nearly launched himself at his blonde headed savior.

"Draco!" he cried, feeling a bit like swooning but suppressing that urge because he still had his dignity, damn it.

"Oh. It's you." Draco replied, giving Harry a nod. "I head a bunch of shouting so I came to see if there was anything interesting going on."

"Protect me from this deviant!" Harry demanded, pointing at the freckled boy who at that moment wished he was in any other compartment but this one. Boy Who Lived or no, this kid was crazy.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the redhead, "Deviant? I should say so. You're a Weasley, aren't you? My father told me all about _your_ family."

"Yeah? So who're you?" the boy demanded, indignant at the tone of Draco's voice.

"Draco Malfoy." Draco titled his head up, looking down at the redhead superiorly.

The Weasley snickered at the name but before the conversation could continue, Harry cut in.

"I don't care _who_ you are, you sexual predator! Get out! Out!"

Oh, how Harry wished that Miss Puff Fluff was here. Well, technically she _was_ here, just not…_here_. Harry, not knowing what the heck kind of an ordeal he'd be expected to overcome in traveling to a magical school, had safely placed his pet in a soft, cotton lined basket in the trunk. It's not like she needed air and he didn't want her getting hurt by accident while he rode a unicorn or hung onto a flying dragon. Although if he had known all he'd be doing was riding a fricken' _train_ he wouldn't have bothered. And now it was too late. Ok, he could get her out but frankly, it seemed like too much work. He had to get someone to get his trunk down, open it, blah blah blah. Not gonna happen.

While Harry was busy with his little internal monologue, Draco had fixed Weasley with a very amused look.

"A sexual predator? For shame, Weasley." Draco said, pretending that he knew what a 'sexual predator' actually was. He'd owl his mother later and ask.

"I'm not!" Weasley yelled. He too had no idea what that meant but it seemed bad so he was definitely going to deny it, even if _Harry Potter_ said he was one!

"Well either way, you're obviously not _wanted _here, so…" Draco snapped his fingers and two burly (or as burly as 11 year olds can get) figures stepped into the compartment and stared the redhead down menacingly. "Crabbe, Goyle, take care of this peasant."

Harry watched, impressed, as the Weasley was promptly tossed out of the compartment, his belongings quickly following. Draco, for all his faults of being a Nazi, wasn't half bad. Harry eyed the blonde speculatively – yes, he'd make a very nice servant.

Now that the threat of _molestation _was gone – and boy, hadn't _that_ sounded bad when the teachers talked about it – Harry felt less like a cringing princess and more like the evil overlord that he was. He made a mental note to work on that. It wasn't impressive _at all_ and ruined his image of awesome.

"Thank you _so_ much, Draco. You're good people. You can sit by _me_." Harry offered generously, beaming at the blonde. Draco flushed slightly and took the offered spot on the seat.

"You're welcome. My father says that the Weasleys are poor and maybe if they'd stop breeding like vermin then they'd be able to afford some manners." Draco said, nodding at the wise words of wisdom. "By the way, I never caught your name."

"It's Harry." He paused, staring at Draco a bit uneasily in case he happened to pull a Weasley. "Potter."

Draco's face showed obvious surprise, but then a satisfied expression quickly overtook it. He was friends with THE Harry Potter. He tried not to squeal.

"Well then, I'm pleased to meet you, Harry." Draco said faux-nonchalantly, holding out his hand.

Even though he took it gingerly, Harry beamed at the blonde. "Ditto."

Yes. His dark army was forming.

Glee.

* * *

AN: Aaaaand I'm gonna stop here. Before you guys are all "OMG YOU WHORE. WHY? GET TO HOGWARTS ALREADY, BITCH." I just want you to know that the next chapter will be out in a little while. Like, seriously. 3 or 4 days. So no need to shiv me in the kidneys. :D

ALSO I'M SORRY NEVILLE. You're kinda being turned into a foot servant and I'd like to say that it'll get better but…well….eeeeeeehh.

PS. You all need to go read 'Pistol Whipped' by paddycakepadfoot because it is like 7000 kinds of amazing and Harry is so delicious in it. Yes. Do iiiiit.

PPS. Yes, Lucy is Hedwig. The name will be explained.


	7. In Which This Fic Is Adopted

Hey guys!

I've come to the decision to put this fic up for adoption.

My life is way too hectic for writing fanfiction right now. And when I do get free time, I have a lot of other things that I'd rather focus on like my art, reading, etc.

Soooo I figure the best course of action is to see if anyone else wants to continue this thing instead. :D

If anyone is interested, drop me a note!

******UPDATE ******

ENTER THE STARGATE is going to be continuing this fic! :D Yay!

You can find her at: http :/ www .fanfiction. net/u/ 1735722/ ENTER_THE_STARGATE

Just remove all those spaces.

I'll update this again when she posts it, guys. :D

*****FINAL UPDATE****

Ok, she has uploaded the fic! :D


End file.
